"Well," snorted Horatio, gritting his teeth in a way he had when aroused, "if that's what pleases Nick he's got another guess coming; for three of us are also in the game; and he's got to do some mighty tall sprinting in that last half-mile if he expects to win out. Then there are a lot of other fellows in the run who may give him a pain. But, according to the programme, our race comes next after this pole vaulting contest; so, boys, we'd better be moving around, and getting our place in line, according to our several numbers."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE GREAT MARATHON RACE
It was plainly noticeable how that vast crowd began to stir, and show signs of increased interest when the numerous trim runners entered for the big Marathon started to gather for the preliminary stage of the race.
Each of the many contestants had a large number fastened upon both the front and back of his in upper garment. By these they might be recognized even at a distance; and many persons carried field or opera glasses of various types just purpose to make out who each runner was when he came in sight around the bend half a mile away, open on that last stretch that was likely to see the cruelest work of all, if the competition chanced to be keen.
The boys, as a rule, looked very much like lithe grayhounds, for your natural runner is light of body, and can course along like the wind. Still, this applies more to short-distance sprinters than those whose specialty is endurance in a fifteen or twenty-mile race.
Several of the fellows wore quite muscular in build, and gave evidence of a grim determination such as the bulldog possesses. These chaps might be easily distanced in the start, but they would keep doggedly on, under the spur of the knowledge contained in that old adage that "the race is not always to the swift."
Hugh Morgan was, perhaps, the best built of them all, neither too heavy, nor yet betraying a weakness that would crop out after the first five miles had been covered, as might be the case with the more slender fellows.
They stood in line, listening to the last words of caution delivered by Mr. Hitchens, a former Yale man who had umpired the baseball games the preceding summer in such an impartial manner that everyone had the utmost reliance on his fairness.
He explained to them the simple conditions of the race,—-how there must be no fouling of any kind; just how often and where the contestants must register their names in books kept by judges on the course; how each was supposed to give his word of honor not to accept any sort of lift for even a dozen feet; and that the great crowd assembled would be waiting to acclaim the first comer as the victor in the greatest long-distance race ever attempted by high-school boys, at least in that particular county.